Roots
by Crowsnight66
Summary: Set sometime after Sam gets his soul back. Sam and Dean head to Bailyton, Tennessee, where poeple are getting murdered by the same spring. While dealing with this, Sam is confused about his feelings for Dean. I own nothing! I made all the lore up and there is not a Deer Springs in Baileyton. No lemons! Wincest! Don't like? Don't read. First fanfic. *crosses fingers*
1. The Case

**Author Note: This is my first fanfic, so constructive criticisms are greatly appreciated. This story is rated T for: slight Wincest (nothing severe though). (And yes, I alternate several words, because I don't cuss.) Don't like? Don't read. And on to the story.**

_Roots_

_1. The Case_

Sam's POV

"I think I found a new case," I say, my hazel eyes boring holes into the unlucky newspaper. "Four people have been killed in the same area of Bailyton, Tennessee, in the last month. I think it has something to do with Deer Springs."

Dean glances away from the road with a questioning look. The one he always has when he's trying to figure out how it's one of our cases. "And?" he asks.

"And there is one survivor, Lydia Mask, who claims her 'dead husband tried to kill her.' I figure we check it out. The worst thing that happens is that it ends up being the local cop's kind of case," I wince at how numb I've become. Dying multiple times and being returned to the world of the living, once without a soul, will do that to you. I glance at Dean, his jade eyes fixated on the road. I know for a fact he won't turn down a case I want to check out, especially if it's peaked his interest too.

He sighs and says, "Fine, but if this isn't a case, a certain younger brother is going to answer for it."

_Victory!_

"How were the victims killed?" he mutters, obviously aware of my joy, and unhappy to surrender.

"Their throats were slit," I reply. I could have sworn I saw him stiffen, but I passed it as my tired mind acting up.

He nods, "That narrows it down to not a werewolf or vamp, thanks," he said to the air.

Bailyton, Tennessee

A day later

Dean slides his fake credit card across the desk at the motel to a smiling, blonde woman, and says, "Two queens."

She nodded and began typing away on her keyboard. The smile slowly faded and was replaced by a frown. She sadly said, "I'm sorry, but we only have two rooms left and they're both kings."

Before I could turn to walk back to the Impala, I heard Dean say, "We'll take that."

I visibly stiffened and was glad that I was standing behind Dean or he'd have without a doubt noticed something was wrong. I took the time he was distracted to focus on calming my racing heart down to more manageable rate. The woman began to smile again and gave us the room key to motel room sixty-one. We walked in silence and once I had set down my bag onto the king size bed in the rather large room, I turned and snapped at Dean, "What the heck, Dean!?"

He looked at my with those elegant emerald eyes, which were now looking at me questioningly and said, "There's a couch. You can have the bed, and I'll take the couch."

I immediately felt ridiculous for my sudden outburst, and was about to say something when Dean's police radio went off.

_Local units, a 187 has been reported in Deer Springs._

_Copy that, headed out now._

I released a breath I hadn't even known I'd been holding in relief. Dean casually walked out of our room and I hear the Impala start roar to life. I unhappily follow him out to the shining black car and slip into the passenger seat still embarrassed by my outburst, but not all that sure why I had acted so impulsively. I'm normally more aware of what I'm saying but the past few days I'd found myself slipping up and I know Dean had began to notice it.

"I need a beer," I say without thinking. I feel relieved when Dean replies.

"Me, too, but we're at the crime scene."

I quickly dig through our box of I.D.s and chuck an I.D. at him and take mine as well. We silently exit the Impala and duck under the crime scene tape.

We flash our badges at the on-scene detective and I ask, "So, what happened?"

I glance at the victim, Angela Rain, being put into the back of the ambulance. Blood staining the white cloth draped over her lifeless body. The detective replied, "She was raped, and then her throat was slit. Just like the other victims."

This caught my attention, while Dean looked like he was going to be sick. I tried to ignore how unlike him that was and said, "Raped? That wasn't part of the other reports."

She nodded, "It wasn't part of the others except one male that had severe anal tearing. The other female was a prostitute, so there was nothing to acknowledge it as more than a job getting a little rough."

While Dean is still having trouble containing his gag reflex, I walk around the scene. A hiking trail passing several enormous oak trees, a crystal clear stream bubbling down the side of a sharp slope and then crossing under the trail and winding down out of sight.

I nod to the detective and say, "Thank you."

I grab Dean by collar of his jacket and drag him to the Impala, "Seriously dude?"

He shakes his head and mutters, "I just don't like this case."

"Well, suck it up," I say a little more harshly than I meant and instantly feel guilt nibble at my neck.

We climbed into the car and sat for a moment. I finally broke the ensuing silence by saying, "What do you think is killing these people?"

Dean shakes his head and says, "Witch, ghost, demon. Anything that wants to torture these people in every way possible."

What could be the connection between the victims and that spring? And why rape them?

"We should go speak to Lydia Mask. She survived her attack and hopefully she can shed some light on to what is attacking these hikers." I say.

He nods and steps on the gas.

End of chapter 1


	2. Lydia Mask

**Author Note: Thank you for the reviews, this chapter hopefully will be longer than the first. I also should warn you that this chapter in particular has a depressed Sam, and if cutting, or suicidal thoughts disturb you, don't read.**

_**Roots**_

_Chapter 2: Lydia Mask _

Sam's POV

I look out the window at the mountain autumn scenery. If it was blurred, I could have sworn that the forests were ablaze. I continue to build my suspicions about Dean, but still going over the same word: why. Why would he hide whatever it was from his baby brother? Why was he having such an uncharacteristic reaction to the victims being raped? Maybe he was on drugs. He drinks anyways. A new girlfriend? Please, Dean and girlfriend can't go in the same sentence without _ex_ being involved. Was he ga-

I couldn't even finish the mental sentence. I would _scare_ me. A lot. As in a heck of a lot more than clowns. (Yes, I realize I'm twenty-six and terrified of clowns.)

The Impala pulled over by a well-kept stone house. I walk up to the door and raise my hand to knock, but Dean swats it away. I give him a confused and ticked look, but all he does is whisper, "I'm asking the questions."

I scoff, but allow him to knock. I could have sworn I faintly heard him mumble something like, "Find out."

I shake my head, and push the thought to the back of my mind. The door opens, and a sexy blonde stands before us wearing worn out jeans and a red and blue, neon floral patterned shirt. We flash our badges, and Dean asks, "Lydia Mask?"

She nods and says, "Please, come in."

She opens the door and sits on the chair in the small living room. Dean and I sit on the couch, and Dean begins to ask the normal questions, "Mrs. Mask-"

"Lydia," she interrupts.

He nods, "Lydia, we're here to ask you about the day at Deer Springs."

She scoffs and says, "Yeah, and you'll laugh at me like everyone else did."

I shake my head, "We'll believe you, regardless of what you say."

Dean gives me a 'shut up or you'll regret it' look, and continues, "It is important that you tell us."

Lydia sighs and begins, "I was hiking. I used to hike every Saturday by Deer Springs until that day. I had just filled my water bottle, and while I was walking, I saw the spring, and went down to sit by it. I had always sat and thought by the spring, sometimes for hours.

"I heard a crinkling sound and turned to see my husband that died several years before standing by one or the oaks. I knew something was wrong, so I ran, but he caught up. He…" she was obviously on the verge of tears, so I handed her some tissues.

She took them and picked up the story, "Thank you. Anyways, he raped me, and after he was done, I ran."

Dean looked calm and collected, but my mind was spinning on end. She had been raped, but not killed. Why? Why her?

_The water!_

I quickly asked, "Did you drink the water?"

Dean kicked me, but I saw the color drain from his face. I am going to see what problem is later, but now I knew that he knew what we were up against.

She nodded.

"What the heck?" I ask once we're driving back to the motel.

Dean doesn't respond but keeps his emerald eyes glued to the road. "Dean!" I shout.

He looks at me and says, "What?"

"You know what. I can't ask questions and when I do, you face goes white."

He swallows, "I just…hated that I didn't think about it being the water." I can tell that he's lying through his teeth. He knew it was the water, didn't want me to know about it. I just couldn't understand why he would lie to me. I feel the heat growing in my cheeks, and can see the sheen in my eyes reflected through the window. The tears mocked me, threatening to spill over, and show Dean what a chick his brother is. So what if I'm gay. So what if I get emotional. I can stand pain. It was hardly a year ago when I finally stopped cutting. If Dean ever found out I wouldn't be able to live with it. He would tell me that Winchesters don't hurt or feel. That pain is something I shouldn't bring to myself, monsters would happily do it for me.

If he ever found out I was gay, he wouldn't wait a second to abandon me. I couldn't bare that thought, and the first wave of tears flowed down my cheeks. I glanced at Dean through the corner of my eye and saw that he was focused on the road. I looked out the window and felt relief that we were at the motel. The car hadn't even stopped running when I hopped out of it and opened the door as quickly as possible. As soon the door was unlocked, I made a dash for the bathroom, and slammed the door behind me, praying that Dean thought I had the runs, or something.

I slid to the floor and curled up into a ball. I gushed tears, hugged my knees to my chest. The marble floor was ice cold and it cooled the heat in my cheeks.

Freak. Loser. Chick. Unworthy. Disgusting. Fragile. Broken. So many words Dean could use to describe me raced through my mind, helping the next dam of tears break. Shudders rake my body.

"Sammy, are you okay?" I heard Dean's voice through the door, and the knob turned. I shot my foot out to keep it closed. I had done this several times before. "I'm fine," I say in a perfectly normal voice, "just cramps."

I heard him walk away, and took down the voice act. I began to shudder again, and once I was cried out, I sat up. I pulled one leg up to my chin and stuck the other out. I took in the bathroom and slightly gasped. It was huge! Marble floors, and marble outline and guide around the tub. The tub itself was humongous and black with one big shower head coming from the ceiling. It was controlled by a panel on the wall. The toilet and sink were spotless porcelain, and the walls were blended colors of fire.

I shakily stood. I guess I would take a shower. It would get the puffiness out of my eyes, and would help me relax. I stripped hastily, and stepped into the tub, pulling the curtain with me. I looked at the panel and pushed the screen.

The screen flooded with settings. First, music. I really didn't want to listen to my normal songs, so I made a quick playlist of rock music. Next, scents. It had several different ones, like vanilla, peaches, and mountain air. I knew which one I wanted when my hazel eyes landed on it, pumpkin spice. Dean had a cologne scent called pumpkin spice when we were little. Well, I was nine and he was fourteen. It always reminded me of home and had found a scent collection at Bath and Body Workshop that smelled exactly like it. (I was with Jess at the time. I'm not that gay.) Happy was an understatement.

There was a setting for the water style and heat. I went for ninety-eight degrees and a normal shower setting. I clicked "Start Program", and the tub filled completely through the bottom and the shower kicked on. The extra water flowed through an opening about five inches below the top of the tub. I sunk down into the water, and let the sweet smell of pumpkin spice fill my nostrils.

The steam dazed me, and the hot water from the shower head mutilated my bare chest. Through the crack between the wall and curtain, I could see Dean's razor on the sink. I pushed the thought away. That Sam was still living and breathing inside me but was no longer in control of me.

I no longer lived for pain.

_But what do I live for now? _I ask myself. I knew the answer. Dean, all I lived for was Dean. He saved me from death once. At that time I didn't care about life though. He hadn't done me a favor. I didn't want to live, but once I realized that he was willing to die for me, I found a new reason to live. Dean.

After that, I stopped cutting. I never stopped having breakdowns. I have one every week or two, and their becoming more and more frequent. I sigh and begin to cry again, the salty taste entering my mouth. I duck my head under the pulsing water, beads of water running down my hair, nose, chin, and long eyelashes, escaping my broken body and dripping back to their home. I envy the water. The little, gleaming drops go everywhere. They witness the best things: weddings, births, life. But they also see the bad; the things I see. Things that most people throw up at the sight of, or only see the PG version of in movies.

I run a scared hand through my now sopping wet hair. My bangs soon fell back over my eyes, covering my biggest flaw. The hazel orbs always give away my feelings. They darken with lust, brighten with eagerness, blue with sadness, green with happiness, and brown with power. But the worst, when I used to cut myself, the overwhelming emotions of hurt and despair, my eyes would turn purple. I still think that the blue mixed with demon red from Yellow Eyes' blood. Just comes to show myself how much more I'm screwed up.

I see a pump sticking out of the wall and look at the panel. After I had started the shower it gave three options: shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. I push shampoo and a check mark appears beside it. I look back at the silver pump and notice the sensor under it. When I put my hand under it, a generous amount of shampoo pours out. I slather the shampoo into my long hair.

Girls always loved my hair. They would always talk about how it gives them something to pull, whereas most other guys' hair is far too short. Of course, Dean always said it made me look even more like a girl.

I stick my head back under the water and let the steaming water rinse my hair. I sigh deeply, and close my eyes. Why do all my thoughts always lead back to Dean? The one person that is never impressed. As much as he would hate to admit it, he acts a lot like Dad. I mean, Dean always tried to impress the guy, and yet, I think he still feels like he failed Dad. It's just another cycle.

I sigh, yet again, and set the panel to conditioner, letting it slide into my hand. I never use conditioner. It was always just extra baggage, and Dean and I split our shampoo, so there was never a real reason to get it. I dunk my head under the water again, and thread my fingers through the silky ribbons. Once I was certain the conditioner was out, I lean back against the tub.

I try to think about the case, but still wonder back to why Dean was hiding whatever it is. I feel the heat rise in my cheeks again. _No, and you dare start again!_ I command myself, but the funny thing about feelings is they take their own route. Dean knew from the beginning that this was a case, but he still tried to make me doubt it. Not letting me ask the questions, because he knew which ones to ask and not ask. I begin to shake my head, shaking and shaking until the tears mix with the flying water droplets soaring off my brown hair.

Once I was so dizzy I thought I would faint, I stop. That still doesn't prevent the shudders from raking my body.

_"You're pathetic!" Dean says. "You're not a Winchester! A real Winchester doesn't cut, or have mental breakdowns! You disgust me, Sam. Get out of my sight."_

_ "But Dean, you're my big brother! Please don't leave me! Please!" I beg, tears streaming down my cheeks._

I push the thought away, but it lingers. If he ever found out about those things, he would walk away, and I would die on the inside. I'd become a shell. That is until a demon gets me. Another horrific shudder passes through me.

End of chapter 2

**Author Note: I tried to make up for the super short first chapter. I'm not sure how many of you like a broken Sam, but I think it builds to his character. Anyways, chapter 3 is being written. **


	3. Dreams

**Author Note: Thank you for the reviews. This story will have about five chapters and from there I plan to start a new fanfiction. I will take requests and I will give you **_**ALL **_**the credit. Beware: this chapter is very violent. And on to chapter three.**

_**Roots**_

_Chapter 3: Dreams_

After washing, I get out of the shower and drain the tub. I take a white towel from the cabinet, and begin to dry off, trying to calm down, and eliminate the stupid puffiness around my eyes. I begin to dry my hair, amazed by the softness of it.

I lean over the sink, and splash my face with cold water, but it's useless. Once the redness is on my face, it takes hours for it to leave me be. I sigh, and wrap the towel around my waist. I open the door, and the steamy spirits burst through, soon evaporating, and turning invisible.

I look around, and don't see Dean. I walk over to the laptop on the small table, and read the note:

Went to get dinner –Dean

I crumple the paper, and throw it to the trash. I quickly pull on my clothes, and sit on the bed. I soon drift off to a world of peace.

When I wake up, my hair is falling over my eyes, blinding me to the world. I sit up, and brush away the worrisome strands of ribbon. Dean is sitting at the end of the bed. "Hey, Dean," I say, kind of confused why he was just sitting there.

He turns to look at me with blazing eyes, the emerald nearly glowing with anger. I feel myself pull back, and bonk my head against the wooden headboard. He stands, not breaking eye contact. I see him slowly raise his hand, holding a small brown rectangle. My eyes grow as I realize what it is.

_My journal!_ Shocked, I ask, "Where did you get that?"

"It was in the Impala, sitting there asking to be read," he replies, his voice stone cold, and totally out of place compared to his fiery gaze.

I shake my head, tears blurring my vision. Dean makes a pouty face and mockingly says, "Aw, is the baby gonna cry?"

"You had no right to read that!" I scream, my voice cracking. Salty tears run down my burning cheeks, landing on my clenched knuckles. I feel my heart pounding, threatening to burst through my chest. "How much did you read?!"

"Most of it, I especially like the parts about you cutting. It makes me laugh to think that my pathetic excuse for a brother actually wasn't my brother after all," he grins. He looks closer to Lucifer than my brother.

I can hardly see him now, the tears making my sight so fuzzy that he looks like a wall splotch. I feel the shudders go through as I choke out, "Of course I'm your brother!"

Dean throws his head back, and laughs, "No, a Winchester is the opposite of a chick like you, disgusting freak. Winchesters aren't gay, cutting, demonic, filthy scum."

I begin hyperventilating, panic surging through me, "I…please…don't leave…me…."

"You're pathetic!" Dean says. "You're not a Winchester! A real Winchester doesn't cut, or have mental breakdowns! You disgust me, Sam. Get out of my sight."

"But Dean, you're my big brother! Please don't leave me! Please!" I beg, tears streaming down my cheeks.

"Sam! SAM!" I feel strong hands jolt me. I open my eyes to see Dean shaking me frantically. His face had a worried expression written across it.

I stumble back on the bed and scream, "I'm sorry! Please! Please, don't leave me, Dean!"

A confused look overtook his face, "What?"

I begin hyperventilating again, this time falling over, and digging my nails into my arms, the sharp pain numbing me. I could feel the wet, sticky blood welling from the eight markings. I rolled over, face down to the bed, and screamed unevenly, my breaths coming in short pants. I barely feel Dean's hands on mine, trying to pull them from the now deep wounds, constantly saying, "Sam! Sammy, stop it! You're hurting yourself!"

I could hear his voice crack. I continued to push my bloody nails into my arms, despite Dean's efforts. I keep screaming, "No! I'm sorry! Please! Please! Don't leave! Don't leave me, Dean!"

"I'm not leaving you! I will never leave you, Sammy! Stop! Please!" Dean cried. It didn't matter. The shudders still racked my body. I stopped screaming, but instead starting to bite at a pillow, heaving and struggling to breathe. I removed my hands from my arms, and began tearing at my chest, easily ripping through the thin, cotton t-shirt.

"I'm sorry!" I screech into the pillow, "Forgive me! Please, Dean!"

Dean flips me over, and I open my eyes. He's trying to stop me from clawing at my already mutilated chest, blood welling from the long, deep wounds. I can see my violet, wild eyes reflect in his frantic, worried ones. I fight for breath, and dig my red nails into my neck. I feel the wave of numbness wash over me, and then…blackness.

My eyes flicker open, and the blinding light from the ceiling hurts my retinas. I look around to see that I'm in a hospital bed, surrounded by white walls, and handcuffed to the bed. "Sammy?" I watch as Dean approaches the bed, moving slowly.

"Dean, why am I in the hospital?" I ask confused. Dean's eyes widen at that, and he pulls a chair up to the bed, and sits, "You really don't remember?"

I shake my head, it's all a blur. I'm in the shower one minute, in a hospital bed the next. Dean sighs and begins, "I came back from a fast food place, and when I walk in you were asleep. I let you sleep, but then you started shaking, and crying, and screaming."

I see the pain in those emerald orbs, and I jolt. I remember it, the pain, the screaming, the fear, and the numbness. But over everything, I mostly remember Dean crying voice, asking me to stop, and that he would never leave me. I feel a tear slide down, and start to shake. Dean's eyes grow panicky. I look at him and whisper, "I'm okay…just let me…get over it."

He opens his mouth to protest, but I shake my head. He sits down, and watches as I shake, and cry, pain obvious in his eyes. The second dam of tears burst down my red cheeks, trying to get away from my purple eyes. I can tell from Dean's shocked expression that my eyes are that filthy color again.

I feel the fear rising inside me about Dean leaving me again, and let a huge round of shudders rake through my scarred body, making the hospital bed tremble. Once I pulled myself together again, I take a deep breath, and say, "Okay, I'm okay."

"Why? What happened?" he asked, confusion present on his face.

"I just had another nightmare," I reply, trying to stay calm.

"What do you mean _another_ nightmare? Has this happened before, Sammy?" he searches my hazel eyes, but I use my skills of defense to pull up the wall. The one that formed that lets thing like the "incident" happen. I nod, "The last one was about a month ago, and before that was about a year ago. Though, I never passed out from air loss in any of those."

He sighs, "Why didn't you tell me? Do you not trust me?" he asks. _So that's it, he blames himself, _I thought.

"I trust you, Dean," I look into his shining eyes, "I just thought that you would do the same thing as the Dean in my dreams."

He looks expectantly at me. I sigh, take a deep breath, and start, "In all my dreams you find, and read my journal." He gives me a bewildered glance.

"And?" he urges.

I look away, "And you always tell me that I'm disgusting, that I'm not a Winchester. You would say that Winchesters aren't…."

"Aren't what?"

"Aren't…gay…" I wait for him to leave, to say that I'm a filthy chick, but it never comes.

Instead, Dean puts his fingers under my chin, brings my face to look at his, and says, "I know. I've known you were gay since you were twelve."

I gape at him, "Really?"

He nods, "What else?" he pulls his fingers away.

"You say Winchesters aren't cutters," his eyes grow as I continue, "that I'm too weak, and fragile. That I'm a freak, loser, chick, and you always laugh at me when I start crying and begging you not to leave me. You say I'm not your brother. I always wake up screaming, hyperventilating, and scratching myself. Unless there's a razor or something glass I can use. I stopped cutting a year ago, but whenever I break, I can't help it. I keep having minor breakdowns more and more frequently." I stare at my bandaged arms and chest, knowing that that was by far the worst break I had had.

Dean's voice cracked as he said, "I won't leave you, ever."

I feel relief flood over me. We go back to the motel, and for once in a long time, I feel emotionally stable.


	4. Hidden Desires

** Author Note: This chapter contains Yaoi (do TV fanfics call it that?), and Wincest. Don't like? Don't read.**

_**Roots **_

_Chapter 4: Hidden Desires_

I sit on the bed, looking at Dean, who's sitting at the tiny table. He glances up from the laptop to stare at me, "Um…do you need something?"

I shake my head, and say, "I know you're hiding something. You know what we're dealing with. And for the record, the reason that I had the first breakdown was, because I didn't understand why you weren't telling me."

He stands up from the table, and comes to sit on the bed beside me, which makes me kind of uncomfortable. He begins, "It's a spirit tree. The oak's roots grew into the spring, so when someone drank from it, they would be raped, and killed by the person they loved most intimately. It wouldn't matter if they were dead or alive."

I stare down at the bed, "But why hide it from me?"

He looks into my now blue eyes, and says, "Because of this."

Without any warning, Dean pressed his lips to mine. I eyes close, and I lean into the kiss. He licks my bottom lip, asking for passage. I quickly comply, opening my mouth, and I feel his slick tongue wander around the inside of my mouth.

We break apart for air, gasping. My cheeks are on fire. He looks at me, shame written on his face, "When I dealt with a tree like that years ago, you appeared."

My eyes widen, I had no idea Dean felt this way. He moves to get up from the bed, fear and sadness evident in his eyes. I reach up, and pull on the collar of his shirt. When he gazes at me, hope reflected in his jade pools, I bring him down on the bed. I capture his lips, waiting for his reaction. He responds almost immediately, darting his tongue into my mouth once more.

Once we get to Deer Springs, we walk to the water's edge. Dean glances at me and said, "It affects the person that drinks the water. After I drink it, you have to chop down the tree."

I nod, and pull out the large chainsaw. There had been a sale at Lowe's so we figured there was a less likely chance of Dean getting killed if we used the chainsaw. Though, I wish he would have let me been the bait, but he just continued to say, "You're not mentally fit, and I've already dealt with this once before."

The moon was full tonight, reflecting its beams into the cold, ruthless waters. A blue haze was set in the frosty, foggy air, and a gorgeous azure color was cast on the trees and ground. I step across the small stream, but my foot slides.

I fell into the freezing water, the icy liquid rushing into my mouth, and I involuntarily swallowed. I clung to the bank, and crawled out. I saw Dean in front of me, offering his hand. I gratefully took it, but then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the real Dean trying to start the chainsaw, panic shining in his eyes.

The spirit grinned evilly, saying, "It's good to see you again, you filthy scum." He kicked me hard, sending my flying across the creek, and into a tree. The breath was knocked out of me. The spirit walked across the waters, mockingly saying, "I just love our chats, don't you, pathetic vermin."

I felt the shudders rack my body long before the tears began running down my face. Dean threw his head back laughing, "Oh look, the useless chick is crying. Not surprising, that's all the freak does."

I dig my nails into the nerves between my shoulders and neck. The numb feeling spread through my trembling body, "No! I'm not a freak!"

"Not a freak you say? What do you call making out with your brother? You can't get much more screwed up than that. Just leave! You disgust me!" The spirit disappears, but the pain remains. I fall to my side, blood oozing from my neck. I hear a rusty, hoarse laugh. I was so out of it, shaking, bursting tears, and bleeding. I remove my nails from the nerve to claw at my chest, my weak spot. I reopen wounds, and trail over old scars, the sticky, scarlet substance welling from the dozens of marks, screaming and hyperventilating.

"I think I might just watch for awhile. That is before your big brother leaves your vile, repulsive butt." I hear the voice say. I know that it's a lie. Dean would never leave, but as another wave of shudders shoot through me, I just want to die.

I scream, "Just kill me! Please! End it!" The spirit, reappearing as Dean again says, "With pleasure." I feel myself being dragged, being scratched by the monster. I feel at peace, even though a spirit was murdering me.

Then, it stopped. I no longer felt the heat of new wounds being made, or the numbness. I heard Dean's frantic voice, telling me to hold on, that the spirit was gone. I open my eyes.

Dean lets out a joyful breath, and pulls me to him. He looks at me again and slightly jumps. "What?" I ask, my voice hardly a hoarse whisper.

"Your eyes, they're so beautiful," he says, surprising me. I shake my head; my eyes are hideous, unnatural, weird, and repulsive.

"Why do they turn purple? It only happens when you…" he trails off, uncomfortable to say the word.

"Break," I finish for him. He nods sadly. I sigh and begin explaining my mutated eyes, "My eyes change color with emotion, like blue for sadness. When I cut-" his eyes shine with sorrow. I change my words, "When I break, I always figured that the demon blood ran to my eyes and mixed with the blue."

He nods, and silently helps me up. I see the enormous oak, fallen and broken like me. He half carries, half leads me to the water. He lies me down and begins to wash my bloody neck and chest. He rips my shirt, cleans it, and uses it as a rag. While he's cleansing me, he says, "Never say that again, Sam."

I know what he means. He never wants me to say "end it." I think that Dean's biggest weakness, other than me, is death. I, on the other hand, don't fear death. I for so long wanted nothing more than to die, but now, I want to live for Dean. I look into his eyes, his gleaming emerald eyes, and nod.

After I'm clean, I can walk on my own. As we move to the Impala, I stop and gaze at the tree. Yes, we're both fallen and broken. But, the oak will stay here, never moving forward, never moving back. In a decade or two, all that will be left of it is a rotten trunk, and decayed wood scattered through the forest. The oak's shattered spirit will wander the underworld, searching for a reason to keep walking.

Yes, the tree and I are both broken and fallen, but I'm still living, still breathing. I look at Dean, waiting at the car, turning up his Def Leopard tape, singing along way off key. Yes, we're both broken and fallen, but I have reason to live.

THE END

**Author Note: This is the end of Roots, but I will be starting a new story soon, so keep an eye out! Bye!**

**Happy Writing,**

**Crowsnight66**


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